October 2025

“Great set of tits!” Detective Keah shouted as he took in the aviary.

“If you like my tits, you’ll love my boobies,” Mrs. Yolah replied.

The detective held a handkerchief to his nose as he passed the many birds fluttering around the building. Once a jam factory, the Yolahs now used it as a menagerie. It stunk of shit with just a

hint of raspberries.

“This way to my office.”

Born Babette Guillem, Mrs. Yolah had once been a ballerina and at fifty she still moved with an effortless grace. She closed the office door behind them, clanging the knocker.

“Any news on Ari?”

“That’s why I wanted to chat, Baps,” the detective responded. “Your husband isn’t missing — he was murdered.” She gasped.

“Does the name Tigold mean anything to you?”

“Tigold Bitties?” said Baps. “He was my dance partner.”

“The Blue-Shoed Ballerino, right?”

Babette nodded. “Why do you ask?”

Keah didn’t answer.

“When did your boobies come in again? The blue-foots.”

“A few months ago, why does this matter?”

Detective Keah stood up.

“Your husband was angry about them, wasn’t he? The cost, the legality... But that wasn’t what set him off, was it? It was the blue feet.”

Baps stopped short.

“He accused you of having an affair. You denied it; threw things,” the detective continued, adjusting a painting to reveal a dent in the plaster.

“But he was right, wasn’t he?”

“What are you suggesting? That Tigold somehow killed my husband?” she shouted.

“No,” Keah replied. “That you did.”

Baps’ eyes narrowed. “Get out!”

“First, we need to talk about your knockers.”

Detective Keah opened the office door. “In a 150-year-old building this doorknocker is brand new. Why is that?”

“I said out!”

“It’s because blood stains silver!” shouted the detective, thrusting his finger in Bap’s face.

“You and your husband were fighting. He knew the boobies were about Biddies. 

You pushed him. He hit his head on the doorknocker. But it wasn’t any old doorknocker…”

Baps backed away.

“It was a silver sculpture of a killdeer.”

“No…” the ballerina cried.

“And you beat his head into it over and over again until someone stopped you…”

The detective paused.

“Tigold,” Baps whispered.

“You’d been sleeping together for months. You hired him as the aviary keeper under a pseudonym."

“Tits McGee…” she sobbed.

“He helped you get rid of the body… swapped out the doorknocker.”

Baps fell to her knees.

“He’s down at the station; singing like a canary.”

Detective Keah let up. He gazed out of the office at the blue-footed boobies.

“Y’know, the boobies dance too. It’s how they woo their lovers…” he said.

“I could make my boobies dance for you Detective. Please, I’ll do anything…”

“Oh boohoo! You and your tutu voodoo are through!” he shouted. “Achoo!”

His allergies had kicked in. Detective Keah made his way out of the building. 

He pulled out his handkerchief to blow his nose but paused to wave it towards the ballerina.

“Ta-tas for now Baps. Ta-tas.